


Teamwork

by orphan_account



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action, Gen, M/M, lovers quarel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7951231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno and Rude have a disagreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> This is as 100% for funsies as I get. I hope it shows~

“No, hey man, I was just screwing around with you before, you got something you wanna say I am all ears. 'Cause I seem to remember last time we hit up Kepler's it turned into a job.”

Taking cover behind an overturned couch on the fifth floor of the apartment building currently owned by an upstart operation who seemed to think they could deal in certain classes of materia and firearms without the ShinRa's say-so, does not seem, to Rude, the best place to have this conversation. But if Reno's going to shoot his mouth off, Rude's going to give it back to him.

“And I seem to remember that hustling John Luthy was not my idea.”

He looks to Reno, who's got his EMR at the ready, posture easy, and poised for violence at the same time. A reflection, Rude thinks, of what his own must be. A nervous burst of fire cuts the floor to their right. Someone shouts about saving bullets, Reno gestures Rude to hold. He peers around the couch. “Two o'clock on the ground floor, noon on the balcony got guns. An' look I didn't drag the guy to the pool table, yo. He was already there an’ if I gotta drop my two free hours or whatever a day to drag his crooked ass in for questioning, I wanted a game first.Why're you making this a big deal?”

“You wanted to look cool. You got us an HR visit about grift.” Reno snorts, signals go. They leap the couch together, two quick shots and Rude drops both gunmen which earns them the space they need to move, as Reno charges forward with a shout and barrels straight into the group of as-yet-living bodies between them and the stairwell. He hits them swinging, straight on through the blades and fists that meet him because Rude hits him with a Cure the exact moment he gets there.

“Didn’t grift nobody, yo.” Reno shouts back over the fight “Company money to company pockets,” Knocks a dent in someone's head, “Luthy’s crooked like I said he was.” Reno's left two guys on the floor when Rude gets there, and if the one left standing is still trying to figure out what the hell had just hit them, Rude clocks him before he gets the chance.

“Unprofessional.”

They take the stairs three at a time, already hearing the forces gathering on the floor above. A lot more people in their way. That's fine by Rude. Their objective is to cut the head off of this thing, but any overkill will simply clarify the message of what's waiting for those that get in the company's way.

“Unpro- did you just fucking - there they are - I take left side you take right. Did you just fucking try an’ call me-”

Ten more are waiting for them, which makes that plan a simple one to follow. It brings Reno up just short enough to put a touch of tightness in his voice when Rude cuts him off:

“Didn’t try.” One brought down with a fist, doesn't seem to know a thing about defence.

“When the hell have I ever-” The dull thud of blunt-metalic impact, and the smell of ozone, and charred flesh.

“Ainsworth Road.” Something Rude has wanted to say for a little over two years.

There's one of them at Rude's back but the next second so is the crackling flash of Turk-Light and a short-cut scream.

“Wait what the fuck Rude,” Reno clubs his last obstacle into quietness, just as Rude lets go of his. They're snarling at each other in earnest when they reach the office door, but Rude knocks it off it's hinges “is that what this is about?” Half a step in and Reno throws Bolt at the one lackey left between the two of them and the man in charge, and they don't lose any time. They know Mr. Big Boss by his face of course. Also by the way he skitters to the side when threatened. Not used to handling his own problems, anymore. Ten steps and two over the body on the floor and they’ve got him cornered in, cut off from any weaponry or means to call for help that he might have hidden at his desk.

“First jobs make an impression.” They're turned to each other, shoulders tight all around, and eyes on eyes.

This is routine enough. They can talk if they have to and, more importantly, they can shout.

“An impression? You wanna talk about an impression? Okay I got one for you. Impression: High horse rookie who leaves his post an’ mouths off an’ don’t gaia-be-damned listen when I tell him to chill it’s a clearance thing an’ almost blows the whole actual fucking job? Un. Fucking. Professional.” While Reno is saying this Mr. Big Boss has started to ease out of the corner next to them, maybe thinks he can sneak by, maybe thinks somehow just because they’re looking at each other like dogs snapping their teeth, that they aren’t still watching him. Or aren’t at least watching him sideways. Reno catches his shoulder and slams him back against the wall at the same time as Rude puts a warning bullet in the floor. “You stay.”

“You blew up a convenience store. Two blocks over.” Rude looks at Mr. Big Boss through his shades and thinks it's kind of a pity this wasn't harder.

“The store was a laundering thing. For us, an' not exactly good at it. That needed to go. What are you still not getting about it 'was a clearance thing'?” Reno gets his gun out, finally, checks the clip even though he doesn’t need to and slams it home again. Irritated. More than. 

“You want to say that a little louder?” Rude gives back like he doesn’t know the saying about what dead men can, and cannot tell.

There aren’t any beats to be missed.

“You wanna just finish the fucking job, yo?” Snarling sharp enough that even Rude thinks two years ago he might have winced. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They turn back to Mr. Big Boss in a single motion, and each pull the trigger.

The room is singingly quiet in the wake of their directive completed. Quiet enough to get awkward, and twitchy with unspoken I-didn't-mean-thats, and want breaking. 

Reno pats his pockets for his smokes. He curses too, under his breath, when he finds his cigarettes, and the box is empty.

“Man,” Reno makes the first move, glancing at Rude sideways “script got away from me.” And that's about as much apology as Rude expects, for now.

“Me too.” And that's about as much of one as he needs to offer back. Rude reaches into his own jacket pocket, pulls out his box. He has one cigarette left.

Rude shows Reno this when he holds the box out to him, and twitches a halfway grin when Reno actually does take the thing, and light it. He keeps it to himself for a moment, breathing deeply. Rude waits.

A few beats of silence more, not quite edging into true discomfort then - “Keplers?”

“Keplers, yo.” Reno nods once, then again, as if that settles something. And he must decide he feels like sharing after all because he takes another drag, makes a show of it. Grabs hold of Rude's collar and pulls him down and locks their mouths together and fills Rude's lungs up with sweet, familiar smoke. They part again with an affirmative sound and a wet flick of tongue, and Reno grins at him, “I'm buying.”

“Sure as shit you are.”

All clear.


End file.
